


you've got cold fingers honey (please tell me what's wrong)

by orphan_account



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Death, Grieving, M/M, post season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something missing (it’s blank, <i>too blank</i>) in Reisi’s head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you've got cold fingers honey (please tell me what's wrong)

**Author's Note:**

> I really miss this anime and everything in it.

_“Sickness was_

_fixing me_

  _some_

  _Coughed out_

  _my heart_

  _in the_

  _last stall”_

 

_-Empty by Metric_

 

There’s something missing (it’s blank, _too blank_ ) in Reisi’s head.

The cold press of fingers to his spine and lips touching his ribs (reeking of cigarette smoke and something else he can’t explain), calming him down after a day’s hard work.

“Did you miss me?” he would say, and no matter what Reisi would shake his head, because allowing that sort of feeling would mean weakness.

(it’s not like Reisi really knew that he would kill him, but he couldn’t help but be prepared)

Partial days of clouded denial and teardrops on muddled paperwork; this was the life that Reisi lived now. Saruhiko would look at him, eyes reaching out to say _grieve, just grieve, for god’s sake._

He was allowing it, but Reisi wouldn’t take the opportunity (even though he saw the expression on Saruhiko’s face when Yata lost it, Reisi could recognize it in himself).

“You don’t sleep very much.”

“I have work to do,” Reisi would brush a fingertip over his jaw, watching the expression change and morph into something close to irritation (but not quite).

“Then tell someone else to do the work for you.”

“I’m not like you in that way.”

Sometimes Reisi wondered if they were alike in any way at all. He would press his lips to Reisi’s temple and tell him _go to sleep you’re tired_ and Reisi would feel a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t let go of. He would sleep through the night even though Reisi would lie awake, curled up in strong arms and willing himself to feel nothing just like he was trained.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Fushimi?”

“You can cry if you want, you know.”

Reisi’s hands jerk, and then ink is being spilled over his paperwork ( _Mikoto did that once, and somehow it makes things worse_ ). Saruhiko watches his struggle from the threshold, uncharacteristically somber. Reisi finally dumps the inked papers into the wastebasket and looks back up at his subordinate.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s healthy,” is all that Saruhiko offers. “When someone is grieving, they usually cry.”

“And why would I be grieving?"

There’s a pitiful look that bleeds through ( _oh you poor thing you don’t even know)_ but Reisi knows and he watches as Saruhiko just leaves instead, giving up on a lost cause that ends up digging his hands into the remnants of the ink until he can’t wash it off for days.

It’s cliché to say he misses that cold side of the bed that used to be warm, but it’s the only truth he has, and when Reisi wakes in the middle of night with a nightmare slipped behind his lips he clutches the pillow that still faintly smells like _him._

Reisi writes a letter one day, addressed to no one in particular ( _him him him)_ and slips it underneath the pillow. Whenever he rolls over to clutch it and he feels the envelope Reisi reminds himself that he’s gone and that he needs to let go.

Reisi rereads the letter a thousand times over and wonders what would’ve changed if he’d been alive and read it, had known, had finally understood what Reisi was trying to say past rusted lips.

The final _pat pat pat_ of tears on a sheet of paper come late at night when Reisi remembers the smell of old cigarettes and fingers on his spine.


End file.
